


Amid a Crowd of Stars

by pipperkipper



Series: Between the Shadow and the Soul [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipperkipper/pseuds/pipperkipper
Summary: "Them and their trust. The thing that would always connect them, that they’d always have. It was the foundation of them, the thing that nobody but each other could take away. The words registered, and there was no other choice."





	1. The Lighting of a Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am back, all the snowbirds in my family have gone home, and I have story ideas, a schedule, and my sanity.
> 
> This is a sort of prequel to Invisible Things, in that in my head they would all happen in the same universe, but they’re in no way reliant on each other.
> 
> Title credits for the story and chapters to William Butler Yeats.
> 
> The usual disclaimer: I do not own any of this.

Jyn’s first sanctioned mission with the Alliance was a disaster and it had nothing to do with her and Cassian being captured on the nameless moon of a planet on the outer edges of the Outer Rim, and everything to do with Draven being right.

It was an inevitability, but she’d still hoped it’d be a while before she had to admit it.

A fist slammed into her jaw, sending a spray of blood and saliva across Cassian’s pants and shirt. He didn’t flinch or move his gaze from where it’d been the last two hours—slightly above her left shoulder—but she knew he was watching and gauging her injuries.

She coughed around the blood pooling in her mouth.

Draven had been right.

When they’d stood in front of the Council and asked to remain a team, he’d called Rogue One lightning in a bottle and Scarif a swan song. Their last performance had also been their first, and though they’d properly started the war, there’d been a fair amount of luck on their side rather than concrete proof that the unit was meant to last.

The rest of the Council had disagreed and allowed Rogue One to remain together. If they got out of this mess, that decision would be quickly overturned.

A gloved hand pivoted her head forward again. Jyn’s eyes narrowed. The highest ranking officer on the nameless moon was a lieutenant and, judging by fixation with getting results himself, a new one. It was a blessing and a curse. He wouldn’t have experience holding or interrogating rebels, especially a seasoned spy like Cassian, but it also meant he thought he had something to prove, and that made him unpredictable, and the line between proper interrogation and senseless cruelty blurry.

“All you have to do is tell me what you’re here for,” the lieutenant said agreeably, “and all this stops.”

Cassian stared resolutely ahead. Jyn bit back a snort.

Two hours and they hadn’t spoken a word. The first half hour, he’d spent going back and forth between the two, hitting them this way and that to see if he spurred a reaction in either. When he hadn’t, he’d decided that it’d be more fun to see how long it’d take for Cassian to lose his composure as he focused solely on Jyn.

Unfortunately for him, she could take a hit, and Cassian knew it.

Half an hour. Right before Cassian had destroyed their ear pieces and they’d been captured, Kay had estimated two and a half hours for a rescue operation. If the lieutenant kept it up like this, the next half hour would fly by.

“I’m trying to be fair,” the lieutenant mused, his fingers brushing against the back of Jyn’s neck. “It’s a simple question. Tell me, and I won’t lay another finger on her.”

Jyn rolled her eyes. Cassian didn’t blink.

“Fine. We’ll do this another way.” The lieutenant huffed and stepped out of the room, returning seconds later with the blaster she’d taken from Cassian.

Jyn stiffened. Cassian’s eyes flickered to hers. His back was to the door and the lieutenant. Would the lieutenant shoot him in the back? That wouldn’t get a rise out of Cassian, though, and that’d been his main focus.

The lieutenant grinned. “A reaction,” he crowed. He stepped around her, pressing the blaster into her back, behind her heart. “My offer still stands. Tell me what you were doing here, and I don’t touch her.”

Cassian stared forward, giving no indication he’d even seen the blaster, though Jyn knew he had. He was probably debating the best option to guarantee their safety.

The blaster moved to her temple.

Cassian didn’t blink.

“I’m sorry, dear,” the lieutenant crooned, using the barrel of the blaster to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “but he’s given me no choice.”

The pain was immediate, so much so that Jyn didn’t immediately realize that he’d pressed it to her shoulder and fired. She crumbled forward, a cry erupting from her throat. Her face pressed into Cassian’s thigh and she bit into it, hoping he’d understand and forgive her for using it to choke back the rest of her screams.

Her body was on fire, all of it erupting from her shoulder. The count she’d been keeping was gone, replace with agony and a desperate plea for it to end. It didn’t.

“Huh,” the lieutenant said, sounding surprised. “I thought that’d get a reaction out of you.”

Cassian still hadn’t reacted, then. Somewhere, in the small part of her mind that wasn’t screaming, she was as surprised as the lieutenant. She knew Cassian was a good spy and a master at hiding his emotions, but her chest still squeezed painfully at the thought that even this hadn’t drawn a reaction from him.

Dimly, she could hear the lieutenant talking, though what he said was more garbled by the word. Her teeth still digging into Cassian’s thigh, Jyn gave one final bite before forcing herself upright again.

The world spun, her head light and gaze slow to focus. Behind her, the lieutenant’s pacing stopped, a soft noise escaping him. Before her, Cassian’s eyes moved to her, and though he didn’t show it, she could feel the surprise radiating from him.

Jyn grinned dopily. She was feeling better by the second. Lighter. It was the kind of feeling she wanted to have all the time, where she could laugh and smile and be young. Cassian would probably enjoy it, too.

“Quite the fighter, aren’t you?” the lieutenant asked, coming around her side. Cassian’s gaze shifted back to him, leaving her feeling deprived. The lieutenant held up the blaster again. “Maybe the second one will get a reaction, hm?”

A distant boom echoed through the room, followed by the sound of blaster fire. The lieutenant’s head whipped towards the door, then back to them again.

Jyn giggled, a testament to how gone she was. “Rescue.”

Before the lieutenant could blink, Cassian had his still cuffed hands around his throat, yanking tight. How had he gotten them from behind his back? He’d have to show her that trick. Or maybe it was one she’d shown him? No, that seemed like a cool spy trick.

The lieutenant thudded to the ground. Cassian crouched before her, his still shackled hands coming to cradle her face.

“Jyn? Hey, talk to me.”

A wide grin erupted across her face like the fire earlier. The fire was gone now, leaving her a little cold. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Cassian repeated, his lips quirking before he grew serious again. “Jyn, I need you to hang on and focus for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” she slurred, head falling down in a nod. It didn’t come back up, though, pitching her forward.

“Kriff,” Cassian swore, putting his hands to her uninjured shoulder and forcing her upright. “Jyn, how do you feel?”

How did she feel? Wasn’t it obvious?

“Fantastic,” she said, pausing at every syllable to draw the word out. It had a certain ring to it. Fan. Tas. Tic. Maybe it was just easier to say it that way between her panting breaths.

The door opened behind them and K-2 stalked in, bringing a chill with him. She shivered.

“Jyn’s injured,” Cassian said as the droid unlocked his cuffs. “Get her and go. We’re scrapping the mission.”

Her arms slackened as her own cuffs released. She curled inward, her arm distantly aching, trying to recapture some of the heat. The lightness was replaced with an unexpected weight, as if she were on a planet with a strong gravitational pull. Dark shadows crowded her eyes.

“Jyn?” a voice called softly. She blinked, forcing herself to focus. Cassian was crouched before her, face tight. “Jyn,” he said again, once she’d focused on him, “I need you to stay awake. Kay’s getting you to the ship. Just stay awake.”

Slender, metal arms lifted her then, pressing her against a cool metal hull. Jyn twisted slightly, her heat disappearing. The arms clenched her tighter, and then they were moving. Every now and then a voice would say something, though she didn’t have a clue what it was. She wanted warmth, and Cassian. Where was he? She stirred, and the metal bars holding her tightened, followed by what sounded like a reprimand, then his voice, near her ear.

“It’s okay, Jyn, just hang on.”

He was far away, too far away. Why wasn’t he here with her? He had been, hadn’t he? Earlier? Or… when? It was fading, slipping out of her fingertips bit by bit, save for her wants: warmth, and Cassian.

She didn’t have either.

* * *

Waking up was a bit like getting hit in the face with a brick, which was decidedly unenjoyable.

First, she’d had to drag herself to consciousness, piled beneath layer upon layer of figurative dirt and rock. Then, when she was conscious, she had to open her eyes, which was comparable with some of her most exhausting workouts. And after all that, she was greeted with sterile light, the memories of what had happened, and nobody around her.

She wished she’d stayed asleep.

A droid whirred into the room, followed by a medic. The procedure was, unfortunately, familiar. What’s your name? Do you know where you are? Who’s the commanding officer that sanctioned the mission? Then a run down of her injuries, how much they’d been able to heal with bacta and how long it would be before she would be considered for field operations again.

She really wished she’d stayed asleep.

“I told you we were late,” Chirrut said, jolting Jyn from her thoughts. He smiled. “If we’d left when I said, we would’ve been here when she woke.”

Baze met her gaze, playfully rolling his eyes. Jyn grinned. For a little while, it was enough to have them there, to know she was safe and cared for. Their banter was easy and light, never focused on one thing for too long. She could lose herself in it, block out reality and only live in that moment.

But there were bandages covering her shoulder, and the room was clear in her mind.

“The mission,” she began hesitantly, fingers picking at the frayed blanket.

Baze huffed quietly. “Scrapped,” he said. One of his hands seized hers, stopping her nervous fraying and forcing her to meet his eye. “You would not have made it otherwise, Little One.”

“There is still victory in failure,” Chirrut added.

Jyn frowned. “No there isn’t,” she said, feeling petulant. “Draven was right. Rogue One wasn’t meant to last, and now the Council will see that and force us apart.”

“If we think only of the worst outcome, it will happen.” Chirrut paused, his sightless gaze shifting upward. “The Force brought us together—it will not separate us without reason. Trust in it.”

Jyn nearly snorted. Wasn’t that what always ruined her? Trust. She’d trusted her parents, she’d trusted Saw, she’d trusted Cassian, and they’d all failed her.

Cassian had failed her.

She felt like she’d been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of her. It wasn’t possible. Cassian couldn’t have failed her. He was supposed to be the exception, the one who always came back, who always surpassed her greatest expectations. No, he hadn’t failed her. He would’ve stopped the lieutenant before he killed her, gave the bastard what he wanted to protect her life. Cassian was the exception.

The bandages begged to differ.

Chirrut squeezed her good shoulder. “There are plans for all of us,” he intoned, standing to leave, “and though we may not always be together, we will always be connected.”

Baze lingered for a moment after he’d left.

“Never forget that he loves the sound of his own voice,” he said. Jyn smiled a bit. “We’ll deal with the Council another day. Try to rest a little. The others will be here soon.”

Jyn sighed, settling back against the pillows. Logically, she knew they were right. The Council wouldn’t expect every mission to be a success, and there was no denying that they worked well together, diverse talents be damned. They worked well together because of their wide skill sets. There’d still be separate missions here and there, but overall, Rogue One would remain, and she had to trust in that as much as she had to trust that Cassian had had a plan and wouldn’t have let her die. He’d known the lieutenant wouldn’t kill her.

Hadn’t he?

Of course he had. He was the Alliance’s best spy, and the only person who could truly surprise him was her because she was so damn unpredictable. She’d claimed that spot in his life. He could anticipate everyone else in the universe, including an arsehole with an agenda, and because of that, she trusted that he would never risk her life unnecessarily. He always knew.

But the shot had been sudden. The lieutenant could’ve just as easily aimed for her temple or heart and shot her fatally. He might’ve intended to aim for her heart, but in his speed had been a few inches away.

And Cassian hadn’t flinched.

Was it pride that kept him stoic? A need to prove himself a more formidable threat than the lieutenant? Would it have been worse to cave and show something than to stay as emotionless as he had? Did he simply not care?

The last she didn’t think was true. He’d cradled her head afterwards, had tried to coax her into staying awake. If she focused hard enough, she could remember him shouting her name as she slipped under, though that could very well have been conjured by her mind.

The question stood. Had he anticipated the shot, or risked her life?

“Jyn!” Bodhi said as he stepped into the room, his face lighting up. He was at her side quickly, wrapping her in his arms, mindful of her shoulder. “Whatever you did to get shot, don’t do it again.”

Jyn snorted. She hadn’t done anything. Still, she whispered, “I’m okay, Bodhi. And I’ll try.”

“No,” he said firmly, pulling back. “You have to swear it. Or at least bleed out on the floor of someone else’s ship, okay?”

At that, Jyn laughed. “Fine,” she agreed. “No more bleeding out in your ship.”

Bodhi nodded, the lightness of his face falling. “It was awful,” he admitted. “You always hear these figures about how much blood someone has, but you’re so small and there was so much. I didn’t know there’d be so much.”

“I’m sorry, Bodhi.”

“Just, don’t do it again,” he repeated. A smile crossed his face. “Kaytoo was worried.”

Jyn grinned devilishly. “Was he, now?”

Their chatter was light and simple, gentle teasing and fond remarks. Unlike the others in her life, Jyn didn’t expect Bodhi to leave her or worry that he wouldn’t come back. He was there, tied to her in a bond that didn’t always need words or reassurance. Time apart was nothing more, and when they were reunited it was as if there’d been no lapse at all.

Still, she was hesitant to have him go as he said his goodbyes, because him leaving meant Cassian was just around the corner, and she wasn’t prepared for that.

Bodhi left, and Jyn began her count. She’d reached sixty-two when Cassian stepped into the room. Not enough time to know all she wanted to say, just enough that one thought kept circling back.

Had it been a risk?

“Jyn,” he said, his lips quirking upwards and eyes softening in relief. “You’re awake.”

“Cassian.”

He paused, tilting his head. There was no mistaking the flatness of her voice, the blankness she schooled into her expression. It clearly wasn’t what he’d been expecting. It wasn’t how she’d thought she’d greet him when she first woke.

Time to think was a dangerous thing.

“Are you in pain?” he asked after a moment. “I can call a medic.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, rocking back on his heels, assessing. His eyes traced her, often returning to the bandages peaking through the medbay gown. Whatever he felt about them he didn’t show. Jyn leaned into her pillows, tilting her chin up. She may not have been as good at stalemates as Cassian was, but she would hold her own. It was only them in the room anyway. He had no reason to lose himself behind the spy facade.

“You’re not alone,” he said at last. “If you’re in pain, I can get a medic. We have the supplies.”

A lie, because they were always shorthanded, but she understood the offer. She was with them now, not on her own, and that had benefits.

“I’m fine.”

He nodded again, gaze returning to the bandages. “You don’t have to be in pain, Jyn.”

Jyn blinked. It wasn’t a rude statement—just the opposite. Yet it felt callous and cruel, an intentional oversight for the sake of sparing himself. Though Cassian hadn’t meant it that way—and was probably genuinely concerned in a way he wasn’t often with others—it still stung.

“If you’d just reacted I wouldn’t be in any pain, either.”

Cassian blinked, the mask coming over his face. Jyn’s stomach sank. It felt like Eadu again, butting heads because being honest was too great to ask for.

They’d had their trust, though, however brittle.

“I’m sorry about that.”

Jyn glared. “Why didn’t you stop it, Cassian?”

“He wasn’t going to let us go, Jyn,” he said, as if she were a clueless child. “If we told him why we were there, he would kill us and tell his superiors and we wouldn’t get another shot at finding answers.”

“If you had reacted he wouldn’t have shot me!”

“If I reacted he would’ve won.”

Jyn sneered. “This isn’t about winning—”

“Yes, it is,” Cassian scoffed, aggravation rising. “There’s no telling what he would’ve done if I reacted.”

“He wouldn’t have shot me.”

He fisted a hand in his hair, rolling his eyes. “You’re certain of that? I’ve dealt with men like him a thousand times and they never mean what they say.”

“Were you going to stop it, Cassian?” she asked. “When was it far enough?”

Cassian sighed, head falling back so he could stare at the ceiling. She could see his throat work, the apple bobbing. His shoulders were hunched inward, tense, his hands clenched at his sides. She knew he carried the memories of his sorrows and failures with him, but it was more than that. They would eat him alive.

She was adding to that weight. She was just angry enough to not be sorry.

“Is there even a line?”

He met her gaze. “Of course there’s a line.”

“Are you sure?” Jyn snarled, the anger flaring again. “Because if he’d been a few inches over this would’ve ended very differently.”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Something dark and desperate crossed his face, though it didn’t stay long enough for her to identify it. “Yes, there’s a line.”

“Where? How far was that going to go before you did something?”

He jerked his head down. His ears were red, a muscle ticking in his jaw and another in his neck. She almost felt bad for upsetting him, knew somewhere in the back of her mind that he was probably tearing himself to pieces for letting it go that far. But the lieutenant had had a blaster aimed at her. Had he really thought the man was bluffing?

Had he known he’d shoot her?

“Look at me, Cassian,” she commanded. “Look at me and tell me you knew he wouldn’t kill me.”

Cassian met her gaze. His jaw worked.

Tell me you knew, she pleaded. Tell me you knew. Please don’t say you didn’t. Please, please, please.

“I didn’t.”

For a moment, it was just them in the universe. Them and their trust. The thing that would always connect them, that they’d always have. It was the foundation of them, the thing that nobody but each other could take away.

The words registered, and there was no other choice.

Getting captured had always been a risk of the assignment, one she’d accepted. But she’d trusted him to get them out, to not risk their lives.

He’d risked her life. How could she trust him to have her back?

“Thank you,” she said when she’d found her voice again, “for your honesty.”

She rolled onto her side, her back to him. It didn’t matter that it was the worse side. Tears coated her eyes, and she shoved her bad shoulder harder into the mattress so she could tell herself it was the pain bringing them on. They had nothing to do with what he’d confirmed, or his footsteps clacking away. Absolutely nothing.


	2. A Stone of a Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up a few days ago but something came up and well here we are. I'm happy with this and I'm not and I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, I’m just hoping soon. Anyway, hope everyone enjoys.

“Your aim has dropped thirty-eight percent with that blaster,” K-2 said. Jyn jumped, the shot she’d been lining up jerking and hitting the shoulder of the next target over. “Forty percent.”

Beside him, Bodhi laughed. “I don’t think that counts.”

“It doesn’t,” Jyn said. She glared at Kay. “What’ve we told you about startling someone with a loaded blaster?”

“Everyone on base has a loaded blaster. I can’t help it if they don’t notice me.”

Jyn rolled her eyes, turning back to the target. A sharp pain shot through her arm when she went to line up the shot. She dropped the arm, holding the blaster with her good hand. “What’re you two doing here?”

Bodhi shifted his feet. “We wanted to know if you’d be joining us for dinner.”

“I do not,” Kay said. “I do not need to eat.” Jyn fired. It hit the shoulder again, though it was at least the proper target. “Forty-one percent.”

“That first shot didn’t count,” she reminded him, turning to Bodhi. “‘Course I’ll be at dinner. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She knew, of course, why he was checking. He’d done the same yesterday, and the day before, and before and before and before. It didn’t matter that she’d shown up to dinner, lunch, and breakfast every day since her release from medbay. Bodhi always asked if she’d be joining them for dinner, Chirrut always verified she’d be sitting with them at lunch, and Baze was always lurking outside her door in the morning to escort her to breakfast.

Bodhi hummed quietly. “Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind.”

“What he means is that you and Cassian are not speaking to each other, and based on past behavior of Cassian and records of you, it is unlikely you would remain near each other while not on speaking terms.”

“Kay,” Bodhi sighed. “What did I say about being delicate?”

“Jyn Erso does not appreciate delicacy.”

“Kay has a point,” Jyn said, though she didn’t say it was, in fact, a very good one. Despite the size of Home One, avoiding Cassian had proved to be a challenge very quickly, so she’d adapted. She’d kept the schedule they’d developed in the months after Scarif and a distance from Cassian. Before, she would’ve cut and run, but she hadn’t had a family, either.

Though it was still hard to look at Cassian and not see her blood and his expressionless face. It was like a sheen fell over him depending on the light. Between one blink and the next a smile could become devoid or a laugh soundless. It was unsettling.

The worst part was that he didn’t comment on it. He’d frozen when she’d first joined them for breakfast the morning after her release from medbay, and Jyn frequently noted his gaze on her, but he did nothing. He didn’t ask why she wouldn’t stand near him or if she wanted him there or if she was still angry. He didn’t try to approach her, to explain himself, to earn her forgiveness.

He didn’t mention the blaster she’d returned to him.

She’d meant for it to be in person, to explain why she was returning the blaster that had started the trust between them in the first place. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the lieutenant. He hadn’t known the significance of the blaster. He’d seen a weapon and used it, and when she’d picked it up again in the medbay, the moment had repeated. The lieutenant, shooting. Her, screaming. Her, bleeding. Her, suffering.

Cassian, blank.

Had he been blank when he went to his quarters and found it lying on his bed? Had he known she’d wanted to give it to him in person but couldn’t separate reality from memory? Or had he seen it and understood the unsaid implication: that she didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him, didn’t want to trust him? The latter, probably, because he was just self-deprecating enough.

Regardless, it was one more thing hovering between them, unspoken, untouchable, and even if she wanted to change it.

“I’ll be there, Bodhi,” Jyn reaffirmed. Turning back to the target. “Same as last night.”

“Right,” he said, more to himself than her. “See you in a bit.”

She fired again, this time hitting the target low in the belly.

“I recommend switching to your normal blaster.”

Jyn flinched, playing it off as stretching her neck. “Don’t have it anymore.”

“It’s still in Cassian’s quarters,” he said, and she was glad she wasn’t facing him so he could see the hurt on her face. He turned to go, sounding petulant as he added, “You could ask him for it. Or steal it back, since you know the passcode.”

She didn’t bother to tell him she couldn’t.

* * *

 

Everyone was already there when she finally showed up for dinner, and Jyn noted the relief that passed over Bodhi’s face at her arrival. Chirrut smiled broadly in her direction and Baze even gave her a wink as she took her seat. Cassian offered her a quick, polite smile before turning his attention elsewhere.

The first moments were always the hardest around him. She had to breathe through the memories, hope that they would be over quickly. If she focused enough maybe they wouldn’t show up at all.

Cassian glanced at her, meeting her gaze. Jyn lowered her head, looking up at him through her lashes. He was still watching her, his curiosity open. Curiosity, that was good, it was something she could latch onto, like the small twitch of his lips, the crinkle at the corner of his eye, the slight redness coloring the tips of his ears—or, was that her blood? On his ear and in the creases and—

Jyn ducked her head, forcing herself to pay attention to Bodhi.

“Anyway,” Bodhi was saying when she refocused, “I was thinking for the mission—”

“Mission?” she asked, fork dinging against her tray. The change was immediate Bodhi looked stricken, the fork he was holding trembling and the bite falling off. Chirrut’s brow was pinched, his eyes narrowed as if he’d swallowed something tart. Baze had turned to stare at Cassian, who was resolutely staring at his food. “What mission?”

Jyn swallowed hard, her stomach dropping. Nobody said a word. There were others in the mess, she knew, but it seemed like they were the only five people in the universe at that moment. The people she loved the most, all looking anywhere but at her.

“When do we leave?”

Cassian was the first to recover.

“We,” he said, stressing the word, “leave in a week. You’re staying behind.”

Jyn blinked. “What?”

Cassian cleared his throat. He gestured with his fork. “You’re not going, Jyn, not with your shoulder still recovering.”

Jyn sat back. “My shoulder is fine.”

“It isn’t,” Cassian said, squaring his shoulders. “You’ve barely been cleared for active duty—”

“I can go!”

“—And I am not _risking_ you—”

“I’ll stay on the ship.”

“—or anyone else until you are and that’s final.”

She was distantly aware that a few people at the surrounding tables were staring at them, that their universe had expanded to include more people. She didn’t care. Jyn knew Cassian was hyperaware of all the looks, too, was probably internally squirming. She found herself wanting to see him as uncomfortable as possible, but words were failing her. Everything, everyone, was failing her.

She bobbed her head, a sour taste in her mouth. “I’m going to turn in,” Jyn said, shoving away from the table. “Have a great night.” She took a few steps away, then paused, and added, “Good luck on your mission,” not caring that she was being petty.

* * *

The thing about having a set schedule was that it was easy to change it entirely by waking up thirty minutes earlier. The first and second days were the worst, where even a glimpse of Cassian had her jaw clenching and muscles tensing. The third day, she saw him twice, and both times she stormed passed him as if he were just another ensign. The fourth and fifth days were similar, but she wasn’t afraid to shoulder check him, either. Wisely, Cassian kept his distance, particularly after one shoulder check and also included her elbow slamming into his gut and knocking the wind out of him.

The sixth day was apparently where he drew the line.

“Jyn? Can I talk to you?”

She wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to sneak up on her, soft spy footsteps be damned, but he had, and when she jumped he used a hand to steady her.

Jyn tugged it away, met his concerned look with a glare, and stormed down the hall. She heard his sigh, and then his footsteps, too.

“Jyn,” he called, catching up to her. She forced her legs to go faster. “Jyn, please.”

He may have had the longer legs, but she was quick and crafty and has lost plenty of tails before. It’d be harder because there were fewer people to lose herself in and Home One, was, unfortunately, a limited space, but she could still try her damn best. He already seemed to be fading, steps slowing, falling back, away—

“Sergeant Erso.” Jyn froze. She was fairly certain several other people in the hallway had stopped as well, but they scrambled as Cassian approached. His steps were even and sure now, on his own playing field rather than hers. When he stopped before her, he was every bit the imposing commanding officer she knew he could be. “May I have a word?”

The backs of her eyes burned. She nodded.

“In here,” Cassian said, touching her elbow and guiding her into a storage closet. She frowned and leaned against the shelves, arms crossed and eyes on the floor. Cassian sighed again, softer this time, stepping forward until his boots were in her vision. “Jyn, look at me, please.”

Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. Her focus remained on his boots, and she wondered at what point she’d be able to make them catch fire through will alone.

“Please don’t make me, Jyn,” he whispered. “Just look at me.”

She didn’t.

“Look at me, Sergeant.”

Jyn sucked in a breath, shoulders rising. It was a violation. Still not looking up, she asked, in a soft voice, “Is that an order, sir?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said agreeably. “Just look at me, Jyn.”

_How?_ She wanted to ask but couldn’t. How could she look at him, what would she see? His blank face, her blood, over and over and over. If he’d been anything other than blank, even for a minute, anything else and there wouldn’t have been blood.

Jyn forced herself to look at him.

His face was soft, calm, though it gave little away. He was watching her intently, eyes constantly flickering around her face and body, trying to gauge her next action, her reaction.

“You know I want you on the mission, Jyn,” he said, gentle, the kind of tone he’d use during their physical therapy sessions and she was getting exceedingly frustrated. They both knew it calmed her.

“No you don’t.”

She’d always been prone to anger.

Cassian blinked. “Yes, I do,” he said, and he sounded the slightest bit off. “We’re incomplete without you—”

“Then take me.”

“You’re still recovering—”

“I’m _fine_.”

“It’s one mission, Jyn,” Cassian huffed. “We’ll be back within three weeks and the mission we have after that you’ll be on.”

“I can go on this one.”

“You’re not going. Your shoulder—”

“This has nothing to do with my shoulder!”

That, at least, threw him. “Yes it does,” he said, confused.

“No,” Jyn snarled. “I can’t trust you and you can’t trust me. That’s the issue. Not my shoulder. You don’t think I’ll have your back.”

Cassian stunned was an odd thing. His mouth was slightly agape, eyebrows pinching together, eyes skirting over her face.

“That’s—no—you’re the one who doesn’t trust me—”

“Did you think I would after that?”

“—but I trust you with my life.”

Jyn squared her shoulders. “Then take me on the mission.”

“Your shoulder—”

“If you trusted me—“

“Stop saying that,” he snapped. “I’m not the one with the problem here, Jyn. If you accepted that I was doing my job and trying to figure out how to get us out of there alive this would be a lot easier.”

“All you had to do was give him something and he wouldn’t have shot me!” Cassian sighed wearily. Jyn took a step closer, voice dropping. “Ask me to go, Cassian. Tell me there’s a spot for me.”

Cassian shook his head and said in an equally soft voice, “Not this time, Jyn.”

The anger dissipated. Jyn took a step back. Her jaw didn’t clench, her muscles didn’t tighten. She was tired—exhausted, everything in her body feeling a hundred pounds heavier. Cassian didn’t look much better.

“Is that all, Captain?”

“That’s all, Sergeant.”

She was quick and quiet as she stepped around him and disappeared in the corridors of Home One.

* * *

Jyn watched them load from a dark corner of the hangar. Every now and then, one of them would glance her way, their eyes never landing exactly on her but close enough she knew they knew she was there. Cassian was the exception, going through his pre-flight checklist without a glance around the hangar, though she knew he was just as aware as the rest of them. If he looked, he’d probably find her hidden spot immediately.

_Turn_ , she willed him. _Turn and tell me to come along_.

He didn’t.

Farther down the hangar, Han Solo was loading the Millennium Falcon. She didn’t know Solo well, but she knew enough. He was loud, impulsive, and bold, words Jyn knew were often associated with her as well. Combining the two of them would be pouring gasoline on a fire.

The idea thrilled her.

Once, during one of their physical therapy sessions post-Scarif, Cassian had said she’d do well with the Pathfinders. _They’re like you_. She’d politely declined, wanting to remain with those she knew, but—

But he wasn’t using her. And she was bored. And he’d suggested her tagging along with people like her.

Jyn pushed herself off the wall, gaze focused on the Falcon. She didn’t glance at Rogue One as she walked past, not even when Bodhi called her name or Kay’s clomping footsteps stopped or the crate Baze had been carrying thudded at his feet. She could feel Cassian’s eyes on her, intense, and Chirrut’s sightless gaze doing the same, though more curious than frustrated. It didn’t matter. She didn’t stop until she was standing a few feet from Han Solo.

“Need a hand?”

Han paused, eyeing her, then beyond, before returning to the task at hand. “Not sure you can be much help, kid.”

“Maybe not heavy lifting,” Jyn agreed, “but you’re going on a mission and I’m free for the foreseeable future.”

“So? Chewie and me will be fine on our own.”

“Yes, but this is the Alliance,” Jyn said, raising her voice a fraction, “and you’re not alone.”

Han’s gaze flicked to her again, then farther, and she knew without turning that Cassian wasn’t far behind her, watching. She wanted to laugh at the idea of the boisterous man before her being intimidated by the taciturn one behind her, but didn’t.

“You’re not swaying me, kid.”

“You’re a wanted man,” Jyn said. “You could use a gunner.”

“No, thanks,” Han said. “You’re still injured and I’ve met your Captain.” He paused, tossing a glance in said man’s direction. “He doesn’t look happy.”

Jyn shrugged. She had no doubt Cassian was seething, perhaps even outwardly showing that anger. It wasn’t going to change her mind. He wasn’t the only one who could commit to a decision.

“It’s my choice,” she said, loudly enough for Cassian. “I’m not on the roster for any other mission. I’m free.”

Han glanced over her shoulder once more, face shifting. The worry, the concern, the fear, slipped away, and Jyn understood why so many people compared her to Solo. He shoved his shoulders back, pushing his chest out, chin tilting up and a smug grin spreading across his lips. He was defiant. Boastful.

Her.

“Can you make it to your quarters and back in fifteen?” Han asked, and the glance to Cassian was anything but wary.

Jyn grinned. “Be right back,” she said, then dropped her voice. “Don’t let him get to you.”

She spun, barely managing to catch her surprise when she found Cassian not six feet from her. His arms were folded across his chest, eyebrows raised, face blank. For a second, he was covered in her blood again, and she was screaming, and biting his thigh, and trying to hold herself together. She forced it away, and made sure to check him with her shoulder as she passed.

Seconds ticked by, each one thrilling her more than the last. She threw what she need in a duffel, fairly certain she was going to burst. It was more than the thrill of the mission—it was the thrill of angering Cassian, of forcing him to feel how she had. Maybe it was childish, maybe she should stay and do more physical therapy, but maybe he deserved this. Maybe he deserved to see that she wasn’t afraid to disobey even him.

It was petty. It felt good.

Within twelve minutes, Jyn was back in the hangar, the last of the items being loaded by Chewbacca into the Falcon. Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, and K-2 were lurking outside Rogue One, blatantly staring at her. Cassian was nowhere to be found, not that she’d expected to see him.

“I’m back,” Jyn called, climbing the gangplank to the Millennium Falcon.

Han stepped out from a corridor, glaring. “This is a one time thing, got it? I don’t do partnerships, and I definitely do not need your Captain badgering me.”

“Told you not to let him get to you.”

At the entry, Chewie roared.

Han raised a brow. “Your Captain wants a word.”

“I don’t want to see him.”

Chewie grumbled.

“He insists.” Jyn rolled her eyes, cocking a brow. Han mimicked her. “I’m not leaving until you talk to him. Like I said, I don’t need him badgering me.”

“Fine,” she groused, stalking back down.

Cassian stood at the bottom, arms at his side, the blaster she’d stolen from him in hand. He held it out when he saw her.

Jyn blinked.

“Take it, Jyn,” he said, and she was fairly certain there was misery in his voice. She hesitated. “If you’re going to go with him, I want you to take this.”

“My blaster works fine, Captain,” she said, but it didn’t stop her from grabbing it. It felt good in her hands—no, perfect. The right balance, the right grooves in the grip. “Why?”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m furious with you,” he said. “But if you’re going to put yourself in danger, better you have a blaster you’re comfortable with.”

Jyn frowned. “All you have to do is ask.”

For a moment, she thought he would. She could read him easier than anything. What he wanted, needed, loved, hated. And then it was gone again. Cassian took a step back, and another, and then he was turning and walking away and whatever high she’d been riding disintegrated into a thousand fizzled out sparks.

“First rule of the Falcon, kid,” Han said, clapping her shoulder and tugging her up the gangplank. “We don’t leave looking glum.”

Jyn snorted, forcing a smile onto her face, trying to chase the thrill. She didn’t find it.


	3. Tread Softly

“I have a spare holster,” Han said, leaning against the bulkhead of the crews quarters. “You could put that thing away.”

Jyn glanced at Han, then the blaster lying on the bunk beside her. It wasn’t the first time he’d commented on it to some degree. _Put that thing away, would you?_ or _Carrying a spare ain’t a bad idea_ or _He gave it to you to use, you know_. Comments she was supposed to understand and consider and heed.

Jyn rolled her eyes. “It’s set to stun.”

“Because that makes me feel better,” Han muttered. Jyn eyed him. He was lingering in the doorway, rocking ever so slightly as if deciding to continue. She knew he had more on his mind than Cassian’s blaster—that didn’t warrant a specific trip no matter what he thought of the captain.

“You can say it,” she said, pulling out her other blaster to clean.

Han shifted, the only motion he ever allowed himself to outwardly show others he was uncomfortable. It wasn’t one he showed often, and certainly not around base, but six missions together was evidently enough for him to be more comfortable around her.

“Rogue One is set to be on base in two weeks.”

Jyn bit her lip. In three months, she’d gone on six missions with Han. She hadn’t intended for that, but their first mission had gone smoother than expected, and they’d returned ahead of schedule while Rogue One had been delayed nearly a week. The success and the gap in time had lead the Council to an offer: another mission with Han in the interim, and she’d rejoin Rogue One when they were all on base again.

They still hadn’t been on base at or around the same time, and there was still the matter of Cassian himself, and if she could look at him, trust him. The Council didn’t need to know that, though.

“We’re set to be on base in two weeks,” she said at length. “Provided our mission doesn’t go sideways.”

“You going to make it go sideways, kid?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said airily. “But I can’t help it if trouble finds me. And don’t call me kid.”

“What am I supposed to call you? Smiley? Giggles?”

Jyn rolled her eyes.

“What does Andor call you?”

_Jyn_ , she wanted to say, and how it sounded like joy and music and hope in his voice. Like inspiration and muse, like the best kept secret and the thing he told everyone. And, above all, it sounded like faith and trust. Instead, with a note of finality, she said, “Sergeant.”

Han snorted. “Right. Anyway, kid, they’ll be back on base the same time as us.”

“And?”

He eyed the blaster as if that were answer enough. When she didn’t continue, he said, “The deal was, you with me until we were on base the same time as them.”

“Yes,” she acquiesced.

“You going to switch back to them?”

The answer should’ve been simple and immediate. _Yes_. Joining Han originally had only been a way to piss Cassian off, to prove that she could get under his skin and hurt him. It was childish and a bit uncalled for, even she could admit that, but it’d also cut too close to home, finding out they were leaving without her.

What if their chances of survival were better without her like Kay frequently suggested? Or if they found they didn’t need her particular skillset as much as they’d thought because they could make up for it with their own? And what if they’d died the one time they went without her?

She’d left a message for Bodhi after her first mission with Han, a heartfelt note that explained the situation and how she couldn’t wait to be back with them. There’d been one just as long waiting for her when they’d gotten back, and he’d said in no uncertain terms that they missed her and it hadn’t been the same. But his messages were shorter the longer she was away, to the point that the last one waiting for her had simply said, _Be safe, hope to see you soon._

The shortness had stuck with her, along with the implication: she hadn’t just hurt Cassian, but the rest of them as well. Would she even still have a spot in Rogue One? Did she belong there anymore?

The thoughts had been persistent since Bodhi’s note, and so Jyn did what she was good at. She ignored them.

“Han Solo,” she said dramatically, teasing. “Are you implying you enjoy my company?”

“I am implying—“ he cut himself, rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s already there,” she said, grinning. Han rolled his eyes again and lingered, clearly waiting for an answer. Jyn sighed. “I don’t know. Let’s just get through this mission first, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Han said, disappearing back into the corridors of the Millennium Falcon, and Jyn wondered if maybe he was more happy to have her around than he let on.

* * *

It wasn’t often, but sometimes Jyn wished Kay were with her. She’d never tell him so, because Force forbid he thought she actually enjoyed his company, but she was interested in how her likelihood of trouble would look compared to Han’s.

Jyn figured hers were pretty good, comparatively.

“I told you—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Han interrupted, throwing up an arm. Water droplets sprayed in an arc.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s what got—”

“Watch it.”

“If you listened—”

Han glared held up a finger, a drop beaded at the point. “I’ll shove you in the water.”

Jyn grinned. She’d never describe missions as fun—she understood, at the absolute least, that there was a gravitas to them and they were all beneficial to the rebellion and therefore necessary—but the lightness was something she hadn’t experienced with the Partisans or Rogue One.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be back with Rogue One—she missed them desperately, an ache that never fully went away. But missions with Han were freeing, exciting. He was just enough removed from the Alliance that it didn’t feel like their missions were for the Alliance. Cassian carried the rebellion with him everywhere, and Jyn always chafed under rules and regulations. Going back to Rogue One missions would be significantly different.

It was just enough to make her question it.

“Let’s just get this stowed away so I can shower,” Han groused, pulling one of the panels away from the floor. Jyn moved crates diligently closer, casually checking the hangar each time. There was a rhythm to supply missions like these—the important things were always at the bottom and always went first, the last boxes always filled with more normal necessities like clothes or ration packs. One of the Falcon’s spare storage rooms was filled with crates of unimportant items, always with enough to match the number they’d loaded. Nobody would find anything important, or question where all the crates went.

“So when I said, ‘pond,’” Jyn said, sliding a crate towards Han. “What did you think I meant?”

Han popped his head up and glared.

Jyn smiled, going for another crate. The teasing would be the thing she missed most about leaving Han. It was harmless and came from a spot of mutual, fundamental understanding. Cassian—she couldn’t exactly imagine teasing Cassian on a mission, not in the same way, not get the same unheated glares and faux-ire.

Could she even joke around him anymore? Or would her throat go dry before the words could form?

Outside the hangar, synchronized footsteps echoed. Jyn frowned and set down the crate she was carrying to listen. The planet they were on had enough of an Imperial presence to be concerned—and there was always a plan if they were searched—but she wasn’t nearly as far along in the loading process as she would’ve liked. The footsteps grew louder, then fell, voices taking their place in the hangar next to theirs. Jyn rapped her hand on the side of Falcon.

There was a soft curse inside the Falcon, then Han appeared a moment later. “What’s wrong?”

“Company a hangar over,” she said, bobbing her head. She glanced at the crates. “Seven that need to be stowed. How do you want to do this?”

“Pass them to me,” Han said, grabbing the crate at her feet. “Hope they skip us.”

Jyn snorted. In the hangar beside them, the footsteps started again. For two people who generally didn’t work well with others, Jyn was occasionally surprised by how well she and Han worked together. But then, like called and understood like, she figured, and Han was definitely better at reading people than he let on.

There were two crates left when the doors to their hangar opened. Jyn ducked her head, setting the crate she’d been lifting back down, and swore. When she looked up again, she was smiling, even if it was tense.

“Scandocs,” the lead trooper said, stepping towards her. She offered the forged ones she’d tucked into her jacket. “Routine check. Is there anyone else in the hangar?”

“My husband. Should I get him?”

“No need,” he said. He motioned four troopers toward the ship. “What’s in the crates?”

“Food and clothes,” Jyn said. “My family runs an orphanage. We’re here to get supplies.”

The lead trooper nodded, but the one beside him shook his head. “Everyone’s family runs an orphanage.”

_I wonder why,_ Jyn thought bitingly. She bit her tongue.

Han sauntered down the gangplank, laughing loudly, the two troopers behind him. “You’d think, after three years together, she’d warn me to watch my step! But no!”

“Why is he wet?” The second stormtrooper asked her.

“Fell in a pond,” Jyn said. “Wasn’t looking where he was going.”

“You may want to tell him to shower as soon as possible. Ponds on this planet are known for their acrid smell.”

“Lovely,” Jyn said, smile tightening.

“I do not pity your flight back.”

“Everything all right over here?” Han asked, striding over. He threw a still damp arm around her shoulders. “We’d hate to keep the kids waiting.”

The stormtroopers shared a look—though Jyn wasn’t sure it could be called a look given the helmets covering their faces. After a moment, they nodded. They turned, the lead trooper knocking into the two remaining crates with his boot. He paused and turned back.

“A lot of crates of food and clothes.”

“A lot of hungry orphans,” Jyn said.

For a moment, nothing happened. Jyn sent every thought to the Force that she could, hoping he’d turn around and walk out the hangar. He tilted his head, and though the lead trooper didn’t move, the three others raised their blasters.

“The party we’re looking for has a wookie. Have you seen them?”

“Nope,” Han said. “Try to avoid them. Heard they’re aggressive.”

“The report we have says it’s traveling with a small woman,” he nodded towards Jyn, “and a man who fell in a pond.”

Jyn frowned. Had their supplier sold them out?

“I’m sure there’s plenty of us,” Han said. “You should really put more railings near the waterways.”

The lead trooper nodded, glancing at the others. He gave a final, firm nod. “Come with us for questioning.”

A shot echoed from the top of the gangplank, one of the troopers dropping. The five remaining spun towards Chewie, firing, as Han and Jyn yanked out their blasters. She’d managed two shots, downing only one trooper, when the blaster misfired. Jyn dropped it, cursing. With his free hand, Han tugged her behind him, though it was needless. The two remaining troopers were both pointing towards Chewie, and didn’t see the bolts from Han’s blaster coming.

“Let’s go,” Han said, also needless, shoving her towards the Falcon.

They sprinted up the gangplank, Chewie already in the cockpit. She had just managed to throw herself into a seat and secure her harnesses when they lifted off, new blaster shots shooting past them. Jyn held her breath as the duo worked. When they were far enough away, Han spun towards her. “I’m getting you that spare holster for Andor’s blaster.”

“Fine,” Jyn said, tugging up the collar of her shirt. “But first, you’re going to take a shower. Or three.”

* * *

Jyn gagged as Han stepped into the cockpit, pulling her shirt over her nose. “There’s no way that was three showers.”

“It wasn’t,” Han grumbled. “It was five.”

Chewie huffed. Her shyriiwook wasn’t the best, but she understood ‘nose’ and ‘better’ and felt a deep sympathy for the wookie. She couldn’t fathom the smell being any sharper or more sour.

“It’s not my fault.”

Chewie growled.

They bickered even as they dropped out of hyperspace and Home One came into view. On her lap, Jyn’s datapad chirped. She glanced at it, a bright and giddy joy erupting in her chest. It was only two words, and they weren’t special or personalized, but they were more than enough.

_On base._

It was only her restraints and knowing Han would purposely slow them down if she tried to rush him that kept her from prodding him to land faster. As they entered the hangar she could see Bodhi leaning against the wall, alone, rocking on his heels. It didn’t surprise her, but she was a little disappointed to see him alone. She’d expected Chirrut and Baze to be with him, had known Cassian wouldn’t be. Still, her harness couldn’t retract or the gangplank lower fast enough.

“Jyn!” Bodhi called, face lighting up. She nearly sprinted for him, and he welcomed her with open arms. It didn’t quite feel like coming home, but it was definitely right. His nose scrunched as he set her down. “You smell awful.”

“It’s Han’s fault,” she said, frowning. “He fell in a pond.”

“That, uh, sounds like an interesting story.”

Jyn shrugged. “There are better ones. Like the bounty hunter on Batuu.” She paused, tilting her head. “Han also fell in the water on that one.”

“You’ll have to tell me that one,” he said, smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sure.”

His hands fell from her arms, head ducking so he could better study her. His gaze was inscrutable; it disarmed her. Reading Bodhi was always easy because he wore everything unabashedly. Now, though. Now she couldn’t tell what he was searching for.

She held up her wrapped hand. “Only a minor injury this time.”

Bodhi blinked, staring at the bandages. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed it, or it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“That’s better than something serious,” he said, smiling a little. He narrowed his eyes, studying her.

Jyn frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“You’re being weird.”

“Everything’s great,” he said flippantly, and there was something disturbing about Bodhi faking a smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your missions with Han.”

“They’re fun,” Jyn allowed. “But I’m back with you guys now.”

Bodhi’s face paled, eyes going wide. His mouth fell open, then shut, repeating the cycle a few more times. He blinked, refocusing on her, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Oh,” he said once he’d found his voice again. “That’s—that’s great.”

Jyn frowned, leaning back, assessing. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“No,” he said, a fraction too quickly. He realized it too. “No, it’s not that, it’s just—it’s been three months and the last time we saw each other was not a great moment.”

“It had to be done,” she said, shoulders hunching.

“Did it?”

Jyn flinched, hackles rising. It was somehow worse coming from Bodhi. She’d expected it from Cassian, expected him to have the most cutting words. But from Bodhi it was flippant, careless. The kind of thing tossed without a thought and it was worse.

She’d known he wasn’t happy with her, had understood his frustration and disapproval with each of his dwindling messages—and it was fair. Her leaving hadn’t just affected Cassian, but all of them, and what thought had she paid them? But she’d thought he’d understood her want to come back, no matter how much she enjoyed her missions with Han.

“Yes,” she said, biting off the word. “I had to prove a point.”

Bodhi snorted. “You certainly proved something.”

Jyn’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You could’ve shown you can listen and follow orders.”

“Following orders aren’t what made Scarif happen.”

Bodhi shrugged. “Not every mission is Scarif.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I should put down my beliefs.”

“Your beliefs?” Bodhi gave a soft laugh. “What beliefs?”

Jyn flinched again. There was a pit growing in her stomach, leaving her nauseated and unsteady. “I could’ve fought on that mission.”

“You could’ve waited for us to come back.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You were gone for a month.”

“Rest. Get better.” Bodhi shrugged. “Baze hasn’t complained about being forced to stay behind.”

Jyn blinked. “What?”

“From his injury on Ryloth.” His brow furrowed and he tilted his head at whatever he saw on her face. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Jyn said slowly. “Ryloth—I thought that was a couple missions ago.”

“It was,” he said, just as slowly. “You really didn’t know?”

Jyn frowned. “Nobody told me. Why didn’t you put it in your message?”

“Figured you knew,” he said. “Figured you cared enough to review our missions.”

The third flinch she caught before it happened. “That’s not fair.”

“Because you’re all about fair.”

Jyn glared, though any argument left her. It was as if her scars were all bleeding at once, everything draining from her. She was exposed, flayed, and smart enough to know she’d brought this on herself.

She didn’t want to know how Chirrut and Baze would be. She especially didn’t want to know what Cassian would say now. She still knew what she had to do.

“I should go see Baze,” Jyn said when the silence had stretched.

“That’s a good idea,” Bodhi said, and it wasn’t an outright dismissal, but it certainly felt like one.

* * *

“There you are, Little One,” Chirrut said, smiling. He’d opened the door before her second knock. “We were wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Sorry,” Jyn mumbled as she stepped into the room.

“You’re late,” Baze said from the bed, not opening his eyes. He sniffed and frowned. “You smell awful.”

“Han’s fault,” Jyn said dismissively. “How are you?”

Baze snorted. “If that’s what you wanted to know, you would’ve been here sooner.”

“I didn’t know,” she muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”

“You didn’t read the mission report?” Chirrut asked instead.

Jyn ducked her head, grateful Baze had his eyes shut and Chirrut couldn’t see. “I thought someone would tell me if it was important.”

On the bed, Baze shifted. He didn’t say anything, but she felt a silent conversation pass between him and Chirrut.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “We should’ve told you.”

Jyn nodded numbly. Was this how it’d be from now on? The constant press of shame? She’d felt it after Scarif, in the eyes of the ones who’d lost someone they loved on the mission. It hadn’t mattered if others called her a hero or there was a medal on her bedside. The only thing that had mattered was them, Rogue One, and the comfort they’d provided. They’d made it better. And she’d made it so much worse.

She sucked in a breath, pulled her head up and her shoulders back. She’d pulled herself out of the bunker Saw left her in. She could do it again. And if it didn’t work, if she’d fractured them too much, that was fine. She worked well with Han and hadn’t kriffed that up yet.

“There’s no need to be defensive, Little Sister,” Chirrut said, as if he’d been in her mind with her. “The universe will right itself.”

_How?_ she wanted to ask, but instead said, “Where’s Cassian?”

“That eager to leave us?” Chirrut asked.

“No,” she said, and genuinely meant it. “I’d just like to get it over with.”

“Things happen at their own pace,” Chirrut said cryptically.

“He isn’t here,” Baze added plainly. “On the way back from the last mission they dropped him off for an undercover assignment.”

Jyn sagged. “I thought he wasn’t doing solo ops anymore.”

“The universe will right itself,” Chirrut repeated.

The problem with faith, Jyn knew, was that it didn’t do much, not for her. Where had it been when she’d silently cried for her parents? When she’d willed Saw to open the bunker and not confirm her worst dreams? Faith in something grander had never worked for her.

“I doubt that,” Jyn said, spinning towards the door, ignoring the sad smile playing on Chirrut’s face.

“Jyn,” Baze called, rolling onto his side. She paused in the doorway. “You’re allowed to ask.”

Her eyes stung. Even if she wanted to—and she did want to—she knew she didn’t deserve it. And that mattered more than anything.

* * *

“I think Kay misses you,” Bodhi said several days later. 

“I doubt that.”

“No, really,” Bodhi said, smiling. “I think he misses running the probabilities of you doing something crazy.”

Jyn bit her lip to hide her full smile. Things weren’t perfect—and Jyn wasn’t really expecting them to ever be again—but they were calmer. At the very least, she was trying, and Bodhi had noticed that. Chirrut and Baze, too, whenever she went to their quarters.

Which left Cassian, whenever he got back. Jyn sucked in a breath, releasing it steadily. She could do it. When he got back, she’d be ready, and she wouldn’t see her blood or his blank face, even if he intentionally put it on.

She could do it, or at least tell herself that enough so she believed it.

“Hey, kid!” Han called. “Come on, we’ve got a mission.”

Bodhi frowned. “I thought you were back with us.”

“I am,” Jyn said, a touch frantically.

“You’re wanted too, Rook,” Han said as he got closer. “They’re pulling your Captain early. Figured you’d want to tag along.”

“Why aren’t they just sending me?” Bodhi asked. He gestured to Jyn. “Or us? Why are you coming?”

“Probably to keep him out of trouble,” Jyn muttered, glaring. “Why don’t you call him kid?”

“Maybe one day, kid, but not today,” Han said. “Grab your things and be in the hangar in ten.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re going.”

Han shrugged, gesturing widely with his arms. “Why not?”

“It’ll be fine,” Jyn said once Han had disappeared. “The Falcon’s fast.”

Bodhi frowned. “Cassian isn’t going to like this.”

“It’s just a pick up, Bodhi.”

“Right,” Bodhi said. “I’m sure the person Cassian wants to see most after a failed mission is Han Solo.”

“Cassian never wants to see Han,” Jyn pointed out. “It’s just a pick up. He can’t control who they send.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go, then.”

Jyn stopped. “What?”

“You’re right, he doesn’t have a choice about Han. But I don’t think you being there is a good idea.”

Jyn blinked. Why didn’t Cassian want her there? She knew she’d upset him, he’d said as much, but he’d still want to see her, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. He’d give her a chance to apologize, to explain herself, wouldn’t he? She’d let him back in after Eadu—surely he could let her back in after this.

But then, she hadn’t not trusted him after Eadu, not entirely. She’d been angry and devastated and uncertain, quite like an injured animal in a corner, but she’d also known she could still rely on him. He’d even said he still trusted her, with his life no less.

So why wouldn’t he want her there?

“The Council requested all of us,” Jyn said, frowning. “Let’s just go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are super awesome too and make my day!


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